


part of me is a question (can't answer it on my own)

by bellawritess



Series: mashton prompts [7]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: 36 questions, Band Fic, Deep Meaningful Conversations, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, M/M, at least to me it does, well. i mean. yeah, when i say band fic that basically means canon verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-24
Updated: 2020-06-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27709004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellawritess/pseuds/bellawritess
Summary: “This stuff doesn’t work,” Ashton says.Michael frowns. “You’re saying you don’t want to fall in love with me?”
Relationships: Michael Clifford/Ashton Irwin
Series: mashton prompts [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2026598
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	part of me is a question (can't answer it on my own)

**Author's Note:**

> **prompt:** discussions about themselves (flaws, shortcomings, etc) (though this became a 36 questions fic)
> 
> [tumblr link!](https://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/post/621789692116025344/intimacy-prompts-37-with-mashton-feels-like-it)
> 
> title from better by ben platt

“This stuff doesn’t work,” Ashton says.

Michael frowns. “You’re saying you don’t want to fall in love with me?”

“I’m saying there are better ways to fall in love than to just a bunch of questions,” Ashton says. “If I were going to be in love with you, don’t you think I’d have done it by now? I’ve known you for, like, seven years.”

“I’m pretty sure you are in love with me and you’re just in denial,” Michael says dismissively. “But that’s not the point. I’m just _curious_. Look, worst case scenario it doesn’t work and we just become closer friends.”

“And best case scenario?” Ashton asks, raising his eyebrows. He can’t really think of a best case scenario here, because falling in love with Michael through a series of carefully curated questions just feels fraudulent, and Ashton wouldn’t believe himself if it “worked.”

“We fall in love,” Michael says. “Duh.”

Ashton rolls his eyes. “Fine. But I want it on the record that I don’t think there’s any merit to this experiment, and I’m mostly doing it so I can have material to blackmail you with.”

Michael smirks. “Sure you are.”

(And maybe a little bit because he’s curious to see what will happen. If maybe it _is_ possible to fall in love in thirty-six questions. If Ashton were going to fall for anyone this easily, he reckons it would be Michael.)

* * *

Some of the questions are kind of funny. When Ashton asks Michael, “Would you like to be famous? In what way?” Michael snorts before going off about how badly he wants to be a rock star, and how he’s worried he’ll _never_ make it, because everyone in his band _sucks_ and he doesn’t know if this song he wrote is good enough for any record labels. Then Ashton hits him and tells him that if they’re really going to do this, they have to be honest, and from there it gets, well. 

“If a crystal ball could tell you the truth about yourself, your life, the future, or anything else, what would you want to know?” Michael reads, and then props his chin in his hand and looks expectantly at Ashton.

If Ashton had known just how probing these questions would be, he’s not sure he’d have agreed to this game. (If it can be called a game.) It’s not that he’s uncomfortable, but it’s hard to be open and honest like this, with no buffer, just him, Michael, and the truth.

“Nothing,” Ashton says, which is the only truthful answer he can come up with. Michael looks unimpressed. “I mean it. I wouldn’t want to know anything. What’s the point of life if you can just look up the answers? Why, what would you say?”

“I —” Michael purses his lips. “I’m not sure. But not nothing. I guess, I don’t know, I’d want to know if the band will last.”

“But if you knew the band would last, you’d stop working as hard to keep it together,” Ashton says. “And if you knew it wouldn’t, you’d just give up, wouldn’t you?”

“Would not,” Michael says, defensive, almost offended. “I’d do my best to make sure that future never came true.”

“It’s the future, Mike. It’s — it’s going to come true, that’s the point.”

“If the future tells me something I don’t like, I have every right to try and fight it,” Michael says stubbornly. “The band doesn’t tank unless I say it does.”

Ashton’s gut twists, although not in an unpleasant way. Actually, the dogged determination to protect what he loves is one of Ashton’s favorite things about Michael, and hearing him talk about the band like he’d rather die than lose it is making Ashton feel, well, something. He’s not sure what, and not sure he wants to know, although he has a feeling it’ll identify itself before the thirty-six questions are through.

They work through a few more questions in the second set. Then Michael, slightly strangled, says, “Uh. How close and warm is your family?” He clears his throat. “Do you feel your childhood was happier than most other people’s?”

“That’s two questions,” Ashton says. 

“It’s written as one,” Michael tells him, turning his phone around like Ashton won’t take him at his word. “Well, uh. Go ahead. It’s your turn.”

Ashton bites his lip. “You already know all of this about me,” he says, which is an evasion tactic, and Michael sees right through it.

“You — it’s part of the thing,” he says. “If you don’t want to answer it, I guess…”

“No, I just — I don’t think I’m going to say anything surprising.” Ashton sighs. “How close and warm is my family? Enough. My mum’s gotten better at keeping us close. I think it helps that I have money now. My childhood was unhappy until I joined the band. So, no. I don’t think it was happier than most people’s.”

“Until you joined the band?” Michael echoes, tilting his head. 

“Yeah,” Ashton says. “Like, I didn’t really have anything pushing me forward until that. It gave me direction. And three new friends, which didn’t hurt.”

“You’ve never said that,” Michael says, studying Ashton. Ashton feels like he’ll wilt under Michael’s gaze, too vulnerable, too easy to pull apart.

“Yeah, well.” Ashton clears his throat. “It’s your turn.” He wants to avert his gaze but also really, really doesn’t, and is saved by Michael looking away to reread the question from his phone, and they move forward.

The deeper they get into the questions, especially in the third set, the more Ashton wants to crack a joke, and the worse it feels to do so. They’re in the thick of it now, and even if it’s just a test, to see if it works, it’s not exactly the kind of thing Ashton wants to laugh at — just in case it does. (It can’t. There’s no way it could, because Ashton’s known Michael all this time, and hasn’t been in love with him.

And yet.)

“Tell your partner what you like about them,” Michael reads. “Be very honest — say things you might not say to someone you’ve just met.” He gives Ashton a lopsided smile. “Good thing we didn’t just meet. Lay it on me, Irwin.”

Ashton licks his lips, which suddenly feel dry. “Okay,” he says. This shouldn’t be hard. There’s a lot he likes about Michael. But all of the things immediately flying to Ashton’s tongue are things he _would_ say to a complete stranger; surface compliments, or basic acknowledgements of skill. _You’re a good guitarist_ is ridiculously shallow, and even _you’re very dedicated_ sounds too vague to be true.

“I like that you’re the kind of person who knows how to heal,” Ashton says quietly. Michael furrows his brow. “I mean, I like that you’re someone who doesn’t ever fully break. You’re — you’re so strong, and you put up with so much shit, and every single time, I think, _this is it, this is going to be the one that breaks him_ , but I’m always wrong. I’m _glad_ I’m always wrong. I don’t know what I’d do if you really did break, but I’m always amazed. I’ve never — I think I’m the type to shatter, but you’re not. You can pick yourself up. I admire that about you. I always have.”

Michael swallows. “Oh. That’s — that’s really, like. Thank you, I think.”

Ashton rubs the back of his neck. For some reason, he feels more like an open book from this question — which is really, for him, about Michael — than any of the other ones. “Yeah,” he says. “Uh, you go.”

“I don’t really know how to follow that,” Michael says lightly. Ashton cracks a smile. “Okay, well, um. Alright. I like that you have this, I don’t know, endless optimism. It doesn’t make any sense to me, because I feel like with all the shit you’ve gone through, you should be full of, like, hate, and anger, but instead you always smile, and you believe in people, and,” Michael gestures aimlessly, unaware of the way Ashton’s palms feel clammier every second, “I don’t know. You’re relentless in your optimism, even though you’ve been burned. More than once. I don’t think I could be like that if I — but you are. So…I admire that. It’s very — noble.”

“Noble,” Ashton murmurs, cheeks pink. “Thank you. That’s very kind.” 

“Not really,” Michael says. “It’s just true.” But that makes Ashton feel even warmer, a fizzing sensation building in his chest that he can’t really diagnose. He’s used to pressure like this, but usually it’s anxiety or something, not — whatever’s happening right now, doing this. This kind of pressure feels like it needs to be relieved by someone else.

They make their way through the last of the questions, and by the time they’re through, Ashton feels like he’s just been on the emotional rollercoaster of a lifetime. “I need water,” he says.

“Get me some?” Michael requests, with a halfway smile. Ashton chuckles and takes his leave, returning with two glasses of water.

“Well,” he says delicately, “how do you feel? In love with me?”

“It’s not finished,” Michael says. Ashton frowns; he’s pretty sure there are only thirty-six questions. “Now we have to look into each others’ eyes for four minutes.”

“What?” That’s just…strange. And the more Ashton thinks about it, the more nervous he gets. “Why?”

Michael shrugs. “That’s what the article says. Answer the questions, then look into each others’ eyes for four minutes.”

“Four minutes,” Ashton says hoarsely. “That’s kind of long.”

“I think that’s the point,” Michael says. “Shall we?”

Ashton’s panic response is kicking in, but he’s in too deep now to back out. “Sure,” he manages. Michael smiles, soft and small the way he only ever does for Ashton, and some of Ashton’s tension dissipates.

They sit across from each other, cross-legged on the rug, hands in their laps, and Michael sets a four-minute timer on his phone. “Ready?” he asks. Ashton’s not sure he’s ever going to be ready for this particular task, but it doesn’t really matter; Michael hits the start button and then he’s confronted with Michael’s eyes, gazing into his own, and the realization that it’s going to be this for the next four minutes.

For what feels like an eternity, Ashton twists his fingers around themselves, nervous energy manifesting in fidgeting hands, and he keeps wanting to look away, desperate to close whatever window is being opened right now, because he’s absolutely certain that Michael is seeing into his soul. Then Michael reaches across and gently wraps Ashton’s hands up in his own.

“Stop fidgeting,” he whispers. Ashton can feel the calluses on Michael’s fingertips skimming across the back of Ashton’s hands. He stops fidgeting, but Michael doesn’t take his hands back, and Ashton finds himself hoping he doesn’t decide to. 

Michael’s eyes are very pretty. Ashton zeroes in on that fact. They’re the kind of green that looks like sea glass, maybe, and they’re ridiculously easy to get lost in. Again and again, Ashton has to force himself not to look away. He’s never stared at anyone this intently, for this long, in this kind of silence that feels loaded with tension.

(Since when is it loaded with tension?)

Michael’s palm is warm against the back of Ashton’s hand, and Ashton thinks about that, about how Michael always feels warm when Ashton needs him to be, and thinks about the thirty-six questions, and wonders why they were supposed to make him fall in love with Michael. Most of those questions hadn’t been the kind of thing you’d fall in love with for anyone. Knowing that the last time Michael cried by himself was last night, watching _Bambi_ , shouldn’t really make Ashton fall in love. It _wouldn’t_. 

Although the knowledge that Michael has been crying alone at all is pretty painful. So is the fact that Michael had clearly been relieved to share that information, as if, slightly less recently, he’d cried on his own for something a little heavier than _Bambi_. Ashton wants to know what it was. He wants to be the person who holds Michael together while he stitches himself up. Michael’s always had an instrumental role in his life — it had been Michael, in the first place, who’d recruited Ashton for the band — and Ashton could spend all his days trying to return that favor and still come up short.

The pressure in his chest, or the butterflies, or the sparkling soda, whatever it is is back with a vengeance, bubbling over until Ashton feels hot and cold all over. He tightens his grip on Michael’s hands.

The realization that they could kiss right now doesn’t so much hit as settle easily into Ashton’s already volatile mind. In fact, Ashton thinks, he kind of _wants_ to kiss Michael like this. It feels like a natural extension of the questions and the staring, the next bridge to cross, the easiest way to communicate to Michael that — well.

It’s not that Ashton’s fallen in love with Michael, it’s just that maybe being in love with Michael has been Ashton’s reality for a little longer than he’d known.

As soon as that thought lands, the timer on Michael’s phone goes off, a breezy alarm song that startles them both. Michael tugs a hand out of Ashton’s grasp to turn the alarm off, and the eye contact breaks for a second, but Ashton stills feels like he’s in a trance, especially when Michael immediately turns back to him, eyes wide and questioning, head at a halfway tilt.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, which is not what Ashton had expected him to ask, and catches him by surprise, enough that he actually _says_ what he’s thinking, though he shouldn’t, though it’s a dangerous train of thought, though it’s probably a mistake because Ashton still doesn’t really believe in the magical thirty-six (and a half) questions.

“I want to kiss you,” he tells Michael, holding unconsciously tighter to Michael’s hand.

Michael exhales, a sigh of…maybe relief. “Oh, thank God.” And he leans in, freeing his hand from Ashton’s grasp to put both palms against Ashton’s cheeks, fingers curling around the back of his head, and kisses him.

The bubbling pressure in Ashton’s chest feels light and airy all of a sudden. Ashton reaches for Michael, anything to get his hands on him, and settles an unsteady hold on Michael’s shoulders just to anchor them in place. The angle’s awful — they’re both still sitting on the floor — but the kiss feels like coming home, and it makes more sense to Ashton than most of the other things in his life. Michael is uncharacteristically gentle with him (Ashton’s seen him kiss other people, knows how rough and tumble he can be), and after a moment, not long enough, he breaks away, resting his forehead against Ashton’s. Ashton’s whole face feels too warm.

“Believe me now?” Michael teases. It takes Ashton a second to understand what he’s talking about.

“I’m not in love with you,” he says, but the way his heart sinks at that, and the way Michael flinches backwards, immediately disprove that statement. “Okay, I might be, but not because of the questions.”

Michael smiles, which turns into something of a smirk, but without losing any of its initial gentleness. “Well, it worked for me.”

Ashton finds that difficult to believe. “You can’t be in love with me now just because you know more about me.”

“Well, I already liked you a whole fucking lot,” Michael says easily.

Ashton does a double-take. “You did?”

Michael sighs. “Oh, Ashton. You’d be the worst if you weren’t the best.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Ashton says, although he fails to bite back a smile. “So now you’re in love with me?”

“I’d be an idiot not to be.” Michael pushes himself to his feet and then holds out a hand for Ashton to do the same. He doesn’t step backwards when Ashton rises, leaving virtually no space between them. “I want to kiss you again.”

“You can kiss me as many times as you want,” Ashton says breathlessly, and Michael does.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading <3 i'm on tumblr [@clumsyclifford](http://clumsyclifford.tumblr.com/) so come say hey!


End file.
